The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (top 10 inspirational books .txt) đ
- Author: Emerson Hough
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Then it was that Clarisse Delchasse arose grandly to the occasion. âMonsieur Colonel,â she said, as she divested herself of her bonnet, âI have swear I would cook no more; but me? I am once the best cook in New Orleans. I cook not for money, ah, non! but from pity! Sir, humanity it is so outrageâ by the poor cook that I have pity! So, Monsieur, I have pity also of you. Show me this girl that can not cook, and show me also the kitshen. Ah, we shall see whether Clarisse Delchasse have forget!â
âShow her, Miss Lady,â said Blount. âShow her. The place is yours. Oh, girl, weâre glad enough to have you back. Go get that gold-toothed woman of Jackâs, go get âem all, if you can find any of âem around. Get Bill, heâs around somewhereâget any of âem you can find, and tell âem to take care of you. Child, child, itâs glad enough we all are to have you back again. Ah, Miss Lady, what made you go away?â
Even as he spoke, Madame Delchasse, rolling up her cuffs, was marching down the hall. âBy jinks!â said Blount, looking after her admiringly. âBy jinks! It looks like things were going to happen, donât it?â His strained features relaxed into a smile.
âBut now come on, son,â he said, turning to Eddring, âyou and I have got to have a talk. Iâll tell you about some of the things that have happened. Weâve been busy here in Tullahoma.â
Drawing apart into another room, Blount met Eddringâs hurried queries as to his own safety, and heard in turn the strange story of the late voyage and the incidents immediately preceding it. He told Blount of the discovery of Miss Lady living in the care of the old Frenchwoman, Madame DelchasseâMiss Lady, as they had both more than suspected, none other than Louise Loisson, the mysterious dancer in the city of New Orleans; told of the plot which he was satisfied had been the motive of Henry Decherd in inducing Miss Lady to accompany him upon the steamer. Blount added rapid confirmation here and there, and presently they came to a topic which could no longer be avoided.
âI know what was done,â said Eddring at length, after a slight pause in the conversation. âI found the place where it all happened. Thatâs where we spent the night, on the ridge, near the house.â
âDid they see? Did they know?â asked Blount, nodding toward the place where the two women had disappeared.
âNo,â said Eddring. âI did not tell them. Blount, itâs awful. Whereâs the law gone in this country?â
âLaw?â cried Blount, fiercely, âwe were the law! We sent for that nigger sheriffâthe one they elected for a jokeâhell of a joke, wasnât it?âand he wouldnât come. We had with us the old sheriff, Jim Peters, a good officer in this county, as you know, before now. We had with us every white voter in this precinct, every tax-payer. We found them, these levee-cutting, house-burning fools, right at their work. We left some of them dead there, and run some into the cane, and we took the balance over to that church of theirs which you saw. The water wasnât so high then as you say it is now. There was a regular fight, and the niggers were plumb desperate. They had guns. Jim Bowles, down below here, was shot pretty bad, though I reckon heâll get well. I was shot, tooânot bad, but enough to make me some dizzy. Jim Petersâand I reckon he was the real officer of the lawâ was shot, too, so bad that he died pretty soon. Now I reckon you can tell what we found to be at the bottom of this, and who it was thatâs been making all this deviltry here for years.â
âDelphine!â
âIt was nobody else,â said Blount. âYou talk about human tigers, and fiends, and all that kind of thing; that woman beat anything I ever did see or hear of. She was brave as a lion. Peters and Bowles and I closed in on her, wanting to take her, but she fought like a man, and a brave one. She had two six-shooters, and she dropped us, all three of us; and then before the others could close in on her, she turned loose on herself, and killed herself dead as hell. She didnât see the finish of the others.â
Eddring buried his face in his hands and inwardly thanked Providence that he himself had not been present at such a scene.
Blount resumed presently. âPeters didnât die right away,â said he. âHe lay there with his head propped on a coat rolled up for a piller, and he talked to us all like we was at home in the parlor. âKeep on with it, boys,â said he. âDo this thorough. Make this a white manâs country; or if you kainât, donât leave no white men alive in it.â Then after a while he turns to me and says he, âColonel, you know Iâm not a rich man. Now Iâve got a couple of mighty fine bâah-dogs, and I want to give âem to you; but if you donât mind, Iâd like mighty well if youâd send my wife over a good cow. Sheâs going to be left in pretty poor shape, Iâm afraid, for you know how things have been going on the plantations,â I told him I would. We was both laying on the ground together. I told him I would take care of his folks, for he was a friend of mine, and the right kind of man. He talked on a while like that, and finally he says, âWell, boys, Iâm not going to live, and youâve got a heap to do right now, and I mustnât keep you from it. Jake,â says he, âyou Jake, come here.ââJake was his nigger boy that he always kept around with him. We had three or four good darkies with us. My boy Bill, out there, was along, and this Jake and some others. âJake,â says Jim Peters to this boy, âcome around here anâ take this piller out from under my head. Lay me down, and lemme die!â Jake he didnât want to, but Jim says to him again, âJake, damn you,â says he,âdo like I tell youâ; so then Jake he took the piller out, and Jim he just lay back and gasped once, âOh!â like that, and he was gone. I call that dying like a gentleman,â said Blount.
âThe poor fools,â presently went on the firm voice of the man who was recounting these commonplaces of the recent savage scenes, âthey think, and they told us, some of them, that theyâve got the North behind them. They think the time is going to come when they wonât have to work any more. They want to make all this Delta black, and not white. If we could give it to them and fence them in we would be well rid of the whole proposition, North and South alike. These poor fools say that the North will make another war and set them free again! Thereâll never be another war between the South and the North. Next time it will be North and South together, against the slaves, white and black. But as to the Delta going black, while we men in here are left aliveâwell, I want to say weâll never live to see it. If the people up North could only know the trouble they makeâcould only know that that trouble lands hardest on the niggers, I think maybe theyâd change a few of their theories. They donât understand. They think that maybe after a while they can make us people think that black is white, and white is black. Carry that out, and it means extermination, on the one side or the other.
âLaw?â he went on bitterly; âI wish youâd tell me what is the law. Good God, we white men in this country are anxious enough in our hearts to settle all these things. We want to be law-abiding, but how can we, unless we begin everything all over again? Law? You tell me, what is the law!â
Miss Lady and her stout-hearted friend, Clarisse Delchasse, found abundance at hand to engage their activities. Miss Lady ran from one part to another of the great house which once she had known so familiarly. Everywhere was an unlovely disorder and confusion, which spoke of shiftlessness and lack of care. The touch of womanâs hand had long been wanting. Colonel Blount, in the hands of his indifferent servants, had indeed seen all things go to ruin about him. To Miss Lady, concerned with the swift changes in her own life, wondering what the future might presently have in store for her, all this seemed a sorry home-coming. She leaned her head against the door and wept in a sudden sense of loneliness; yet presently she lost in part this feeling in a greater access of pity which she felt for the helpless master of the Big House, who had been living thus abandoned and alone. With this there came the woman-like wish to restore the place to some semblance of a home. Even as she dried her eyes, to her entered presently madame, with her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her face aglow in the noble ardor of housekeeping.
âVoila!â she cried. âI have founâ it! I have dig it hâout. Here is the soss-_pan_ of copper. It was throwâ away. It was disspiseâ. Mais oui, but now I shall cook! This house it is ruinâ. Such a place I never have seen since I begin. You and I, Mademoiselle, it is for us to make this a place fit for the to-liveâbut you, what is it? Ah, Mademoiselle, why you weep? Come, Come to me!â And Miss Lady was indeed fain to lay her head upon the broad shoulders, to feel the comforting embrace of madameâs fat arms.
âHâidgit!â cried madame, suddenly, starting back.
âHâidgit congenital! Hâass most tremenjouse! Fool par excellence!â
Miss Lady gazed to her in wonder. âAuntie,â she cried, âwho?â
âWho should it be but the Mâsieu Eddrang?â replied madame. âFor a time it is like the book. Now it is not like the book. Ah, if I Clarisse Delchasse, were a man, and I take the lady away from one man, Iâd hârun away with her myself, me, and Iâd keep on the hârun. But Mâsieu Eddrang, how is it that he does? Bah! He does not speak târee, four word to you the whole time on the boat. You, who have been the idol of the young gentilhommes of New Orleansâyou, who have been worshipâ! Now, it is not one man, and it is not another, although ma âtite fille, she is alone, here in this desert execrable. Bah! It is for you to disspise that Mâsieu Eddrang. He is not grand homme. Come. I take you back to New Orleans.â
Miss Lady looked at her with a curious shade of perplexity on her face. âYou mistake, auntie,â said she. âI do not wish to be back at New Orleans. I am done with the stageâIâll never dance again. I amâ Iâm just lonesomeâI donât know why. I have been so troubled. I donât know where I belong. Auntie, itâs an awful feeling not to know that you belong somewhere, or to some one.â
âYou billong to me,â said Madame Delchasse, stoutly. âAs
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